


You Have Got To Give

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (my_mad_fatuation)



Series: I'll Tell You [4]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Awkward Blow Jobs, Dating, Drunken Confessions, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Love Confessions, M/M, Morning Sex, POV Alternating, Roommates, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-29 00:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18767341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: He called mebabe, and he’s laughing at me, and I think I might kiss him again.“Come on.” He grabs my hand as he pulls open the door and leads me through it.People are definitely going to know that something’s up between us now, I realize, since he still isn’t letting go of my hand as we head towards the stairs. It’s not a secret exactly, but we’ve been fairly cautious around the building together up to this point. Mostly because we don’t want questions.As Simon and Baz's relationship becomes more public, it becomes more difficult for them to ignore their personal issues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh, I wrote a thing! It's been eighteen thousand long years, but there is finally an update!
> 
> Many thanks to @giishu for putting up with my shit while I wrote this. For being there through all my self-loathing and wanting to set the whole thing on fire. For reading my unedited nonsense. For sending me gifs. You are an angel--yes, the kind with all the eyes.
> 
> This part of the series picks up shortly after the last one left off (with the boys watching Netflix and being cuddly), but that should be clear from the first scene.
> 
> Also, in case the rating and tags didn't make this obvious, there are scenes of a sexual nature in this fic. Explicitly so. I will make a note on those chapters (this first one is safe), but keep in mind that I am a fan of writing awkwardness and cringey stuff, so buckle up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people in the building are surprised to learn that Baz and Simon are together now. Some are not.

**BAZ**

“I still can’t believe you’d gone this long without getting spoiled for the end of series one.” I close my laptop while Simon continues laughing incredulously about the finale we just watched.

“Look, maybe I have gotten spoiled before, but I just tune out information that I don’t want to know,” he replies, sliding off the side of my bed to make room for me to get out as well.

“Ah, yes, that sounds like a great system you’ve got there.”

“Works for me.”

I return my laptop to the desk while he picks up the clothing that now litters the floor beside my bed—all of which belongs to him at this point, since I put my cardigan back on after the first episode of _The Good Place_. (Yes, Simon’s a decent heat source, but my arm opposite from him was freezing.)

“Aren’t you going to be cold outside?” I ask when I notice him toss his jacket onto his own bed instead of putting it on over his jumper. The dining hall is in the same building, technically, but we have to walk outside to get to the right door.

He shrugs as he shoves his feet into his trainers without even doing the laces properly. “You know I’m always hot.”

“Oh, I do.” I smirk at him when he looks back up at me, and enjoy the sheepish look on his face for a moment before I get ready to leave, myself.

He’s already waiting at the door by the time I’ve got my boots and jacket on—I’m still not one hundred percent used to this whole leaving-the-room-at-the-same-time thing we do now, though. It’s rather domestic. But I like it.

“Have you got your keys, babe?” he says when I reach him, and it suddenly hits me that I was just about to walk out without verifying that they were in my pocket.

I do a quick check before I remember that I left them on my desk when I got in earlier today, so I slink back over there to retrieve them, slightly embarrassed by the gaffe. Simon seems to be loving it, though. He is positively incapable of containing his mirth, at the moment.

“You know I have keys too, right? I was just teasing you,” he says with a laugh.

And then I hear it. Retroactively. He called me _babe_.

He called me _babe_ , and he’s laughing at me, and I think I might kiss him again.

“Come on.” He grabs my hand as he pulls open the door and leads me through it.

People are definitely going to know that something’s up between us now, I realize, since he still isn’t letting go of my hand as we head towards the stairs. It’s not a secret exactly, but we’ve been fairly cautious around the building together up to this point. Mostly because we don’t want questions.

“What’s all this, then?” Gareth, a guy who lives on our floor, stops and quirks a quizzical eyebrow at us when we enter the stairwell and he sees our clasped hands.

I try to pull my hand away, but Simon squeezes it tighter.

 

**SIMON**

“What’s all what?” I ask Gareth, squeezing Baz’s hand tighter when I feel him try to pull away.

“You two are… together?” Gareth replies. He looks vaguely amused, as if it’s such an utterly unbelievable concept.

“So?”

“Like, _together_ together?”

“Something wrong with that?” I say as I puff out my chest, though he just starts grinning like this is the funniest thing in the world. _Am I really such a joke to people?_

“No,” he says, and then laughs. “But Rhys owes me twenty quid.”

I frown at him in confusion and glance over at Baz, who exchanges a similarly perplexed look with me.

He turns his attention back to Gareth and glares. “You two had a bet on… this?”

“Well, he thought it wouldn’t happen until next term, but I had a feeling…” Gareth says proudly.

After a moment of fuming, Baz storms off, and I lose my grip on his hand as he heads down the stairs. I don’t think Gareth meant for him to react that way, because he looks at me apologetically, but I don’t have to time to deal with him right now; I have to go after Baz. Because _what the fuck was that?_

 

**BAZ**

I only make it to the landing one level down before Simon catches up to me. He tells me to wait for him, so I do, because I’m not angry at him. I’m not even angry at Gareth. I don’t know if I’m angry at all. I’m just… something.

Simon tugs on my sleeve when he reaches me, and pulls me into the corner of the landing with him, so that anyone going by could get past us. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I mumble, keeping my head down and trying to back away again.

His fingers close around my forearm so I don’t get very far. “Baz…” he says seriously. “What is it? Are you… embarrassed to be seen with me?”

I lift my head quickly to look at him and see the concern on his face. “Shit, no! If anything, _I’m_ the embarrassment here,” I tell him, though he doesn’t seem to like that answer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says as he clenches my sleeve in his fist.

“I have something of a reputation, Simon,” I say flatly. “Everyone knows it.”

He scowls a little. “So?”

“So, now people think I’m in the habit of chasing straight guys!”

“But I’m not straight.”

“Does _he_ know that?” I say, gesturing towards the staircase up to the next floor.

“Well, he obviously does now—”

“When he made the bet, I mean.”

Simon shrugs. “Oh, I dunno. I never told him.”

“Exactly,” I say, though the look on his face tells me he still doesn’t get my point. So I sigh and lean my shoulder against the wall before continuing. “You’re not just—This isn’t a game for me. And I don’t want people thinking that I…”

“That you what?”

Before I can work out exactly how to say what I’m trying to say, I hear someone coming up the stairs and look over my shoulder to see one of the girls from our building eyeing us suspiciously. I turn my head away again, and press it into the wall, muttering to myself and hoping she’ll just keep walking. Though she’s never once given up the chance to mock me whenever she can.

“Oh, look, has Pitch got himself a bitch, now?” she says as she stops on the landing.

Simon’s grip on my sleeve tightens even more. “What do you want, Heather?”

 

**SIMON**

“I just think it’s funny to see you two looking so chummy, is all,” Heather says, shrugging as if she has no sadistic ulterior motive for even speaking to us. (Past experience tells me that she most likely does.)

I remove my hand from Baz’s arm when I feel him tense up even more—the last thing I want is to make this worse for him. “Why’s that funny?” I ask with a scowl in her direction. Maybe this is unexpected, sure, but is it _funny_? Really?

“I didn’t realize you were friends, that’s all.”

“We’re not,” I tell her, but Baz immediately snaps his head up to look at me, like I’ve just stabbed him. “No, I mean—We’re something else, too. We’re… boyfriends.”

“Right,” she says slowly, drawing out the word to emphasize her judgmental tone. She turns her attention to Baz and smirks. “I guess you don’t think he’s _‘so fucking pathetic’_ anymore, huh, Pitch? Or is this just some sort of charity work?”

“What?” I look back at Baz, trying to find an answer on his face, but he’s leaning against the wall as though he’s hoping to pass right through it, just to get out of this. “What’s she talking about?”

He starts to step back, but I grab his arm again to keep him from leaving. “Can we please just go?” he mutters quietly, like he’s trying not to let her hear, even though she’s standing right there.

“Baz,” I say, standing firmly in place. “Talk to me.”

He glances over at Heather and then fixes me with an icy stare. “Not here,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she says as she starts heading towards the stairs leading up. “You can have your little lover’s quarrel in the stairwell if you must. Later, boys.”

I watch her climb the steps for a moment before I feel the tug of Baz trying to escape again, only this time he manages to release himself from my grasp and continue down the stairs, the opposite way from her.

He’s quick on the stairs—much more co-ordinated with his feet than I am—so I don’t catch him until we reach the ground level, one floor down. He stops, though, when I tug on his sleeve near the elbow, but he doesn’t face me. Instead he holds out his hand behind him, like he’s waiting for me to take it. So I do.

We walk to the dining hall like that, hand in hand, despite the fact that I can tell it’s embarrassing for him. I decide not to make him tell me about it right now, though, just when we’re about to have dinner with Penny.

I’m not entirely sure I want to know if he thinks I’m “so fucking pathetic,” actually.

Maybe I should just let it go and live in blissful ignorance. I almost don’t care, as long he’s here with me. I’d do anything to keep this.

Because I am _so fucking patheti_ c.

And hopelessly in love with him.

* * *

**BAZ**

I’ve barely said anything since we got here.

We got our food and sat with Bunce, but she and Simon managed to take care of most of the conversation themselves. They tried to include me, but I assume they grew tired of my one word answers and eventually gave up. I’m just not feeling all that chatty, not after my past stupidity has come back to haunt me.

I need to talk to Simon. Alone. I need to make sure we’re… okay. I hate sitting here, not knowing how things are between us, with Heather’s words hanging in the air.

The _“charity work”_ bit was cruel, of course, but not as bad as _“so fucking pathetic_ ,” which I know was a direct quote. (She must have overheard me at the pub down the road last month when I went on a bit of tirade about how much Simon irritated me. Loudly.) (I was a bit drunk.) (And Simon had been particularly hot that day—both in temperature and appearance—and it was driving me up the wall, so I deflected.)

I need to talk to him about it, but not here. Not with people around. I have to be _real_ , when I tell him. I can’t do that here.

He doesn’t make it easy for me, going up to get a second helping of cottage pie when I just want to leave. As soon as he’s out of earshot from the table, too, Bunce starts in on me.

“What’s going on?” she asks seriously, though her expression is more concerned than threatening. Not quite what I expected.

“Nothing,” I grumble, poking at the half-eaten food on my plate with my fork.

Her eyes narrow at me and I look away. “You guys were practically giggling together when I saw you before, so what happened?”

“Nothing.” My voice is harsher than it needs to be, but I can’t handle being interrogated right now. Not by her. Not by the Best Friend, who wants to protect Simon from scum like me.

“Do you really care about him, Baz?” she adds after a moment of watching me try to avoid her eyes.

I finally meet her gaze, frowning. “What do you think?”

She keeps her eyes fixed on me, like she can see right into my soul. (If I had such a thing.) “You know he likes you, right?”

“I gathered that, yes.”

“He’s only been in one relationship before, did you know that?”

“Uh, no, but I don’t see—”

“His girlfriend back in school. He told me about her,” she says. “Their breakup was a mutual decision and they remained friends afterwards.”

I stare down at my plate again. “Good for them.”

“I’m saying, he’s never been dumped.”

“Should I congratulate him?” I snap as I look back up at her concerned face.

“I just worry about him, okay?”

“You think I’m going to do something to hurt him?”

“Not on purpose,” she says, and I almost think she’s worried about me, too.

“What _exactly_ do you think I’m going to do, then?”

She doesn’t even hesitate a second before answering. “Shut him out.”

I want to tell her that’s ridiculous. I want to argue that I’m not like that at all. But I can’t, because I’m not so sure of it myself.

“Got it,” I say tersely as I rise from my seat.

“Baz, hold on, I just meant—”

“No, you’re right, Bunce.” I scoop up my jacket from the back of the chair, but I don’t even bother to put it on. “You’re always fucking right.”

 

**SIMON**

I get back to the table just in time to see Baz leaving the dining hall, and I have no idea why. He’s not even wearing his jacket as he pushes through the door outside, so he must be in quite some hurry.

I set down my tray and look at Penny, but I don’t sit. “Where’s he going?”

“Shit, Simon, I’m sorry, I was just—”

“What did you do?”

“I wasn’t trying to scare him away, I swear,” she says with an apologetic look. “I was just a bit worried.”

“Worried about what?” I ask while I repeatedly look over at the door in case he comes back.

“Well, you two weren’t saying anything to each other! It’s clear there’s something bothering you.”

“You’re bothering me,” I grumble, even though I don’t really mean it. I know she’s just looking out for me, but it’s still frustrating when that includes making my boyfriend run off like this.

She doesn’t seem fazed anyway. “You know there’s more to a relationship than lattes and hand jobs, right?”

“Oh my _god_ , Pen!” I quickly sit next to her in the hope that she’ll keep her voice down now.

“You have to talk to each other. _Real talk_. You can’t let things fester.”

“What _things_?”

“Whatever’s got you on edge like this.”

“I try to talk to him about stuff, okay?”

“Really?”

“Yes!” _Sort of_.

“But he doesn’t want to, is that it?” she asks, clearly growing more concerned.

“I don’t… Not exactly.” I lean on the table with my elbows and drop my head into my hands. “This is all my fault.”

Penny places her hand on my shoulder and I can feel her leaning forward to try and look at me. “It’s not your fault—”

“It is!” I turn my head to face her again. “When he asked me if I wanted to talk earlier, and I didn’t, he dropped it and we watched Netflix. But when I tried to _make_ him talk right before dinner, and he didn’t want to, I pushed him. I pushed him and made him angry, and it’s all my fault.”

“Simon…” She squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “Why don’t you go see if he wants to talk now?”

“I can’t—I don’t want to push him anymore. I don’t want him to—” I lower my head again and push the heels of my hands against my eyes because I think if I say it out loud, I’m going to cry. In the fucking dining hall.

“He won’t, Si,” she says softly, like she knows what I was going to say anyway. Of course she does. “He really cares about you. I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“Look at me, Simon,” she says, and I do. “You know I’m right. I’m _always fucking right_ , apparently.” She almost seems bitter about it, but I don’t press the matter.

“Yeah…”

“So…?”

“So what?”

She rolls her eyes the way she does when she thinks I’m being difficult on purpose. (I’m not.) “So go talk to him!”

“But what if he—” I can’t even finish my question before Penny pushes me out of my seat, and I have to throw my leg out to the side to keep from falling to the floor.

I guess I have no choice, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _What's your damage, Heather?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is panicking. Simon is worrying. Nothing a sad, drunken cuddle can't fix, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading thus far! I realize things are getting a tad angsty, but I'd still very much classify this as Fluff. So feel free to laugh. For the love of magic, please laugh at me.
> 
> I kind of wanted to spread out these chapters more, since I have no idea how long it will be before there will be anything to post once all five chapters of this are up, but you know I have no self-control and a disgusting need for constant attention (without my existence being acknowledged, of course), so here you go! My emotional issues mean you get more story now! Woo!
> 
> Also, I highly recommend you check out [HermioneGirl96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneGirl96/pseuds/HermioneGirl96)'s fic, [_I've Closed Enough Windows to Know You Can Never Look Back_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783586), which is based on this chapter, but set at Watford, and it's such an endearing take on the events. It got me right in the feels. So yeah, go read that. :D

**BAZ**

I can’t say that fleeing the dining hall tonight was the best decision I ever made, but I prefer to have my self-loathing spirals in private.

Bunce was right anyway. I do want Simon to be able to have all of me, like I told him, but I forgot that meant literally _everything_. Even the things I hate about myself. Even the things I wish weren’t there. The things I wish I could undo and take back and make disappear.

So I’m going to end up shutting him out. It’s inevitable. If I let him see everything, I’ll lose him. Though it may be too late already.

Heather’s words echo in my mind, but they aren’t really her words; they’re my words. My past mistakes are destined to keep coming back to bite me—actually, they were poor choices, not mistakes. A mistake isn’t something you do on purpose. It wasn’t a mistake that I did and said hurtful things to Simon before. I did those things with full intent to harm.

Because I’m a monster.

It doesn’t matter that I felt bad afterwards. It doesn’t matter that I feel worse now.

I’m sure he’s returned to the table by now, and Bunce has filled him in on our little conversation, so I don’t expect him running into my arms any time soon. And waiting around our room for him to show up— _eventually_ , possibly—holds no appeal at the moment.

I put my jacket on once I decide not to head straight back to our room, and take out my mobile to send a group text to my friends. _“Drinks at Red Wing Bar. Now. Who’s in?”_

I don’t even wait for a response before I head over.

* * *

**SIMON**

_What. The. Fuck?_

How is Baz not back in our room yet? He left before I did, and he walks faster than me.

What could have Penny said to him to make him run off like that? Wouldn’t he have come back here so I could find him?

Unless he doesn’t want me to find him. Is he avoiding me? Is it because I pushed him?

I reach for my mobile in my pocket without even thinking, but as soon as I unlock it to text him, I freeze. If I already pushed him too much, how would a text make that better? I can’t exactly tell him to come back so we can talk if the reason he’s run off is to avoid talking to me. That certainly won’t get him back.

My thumbs hover over the keyboard, but my brain is shouting too many things at me, and I don’t know what to do. So I just type.

_“Sorry sorry sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. Please come back. I won’t make you talk about it. Please.”_

I hit send before rereading at all. (Thank god for autocorrect actually working, for once.)

But then I see what I wrote. And… Well…

Good thing he already thinks I’m so fucking pathetic, I guess.

* * *

**BAZ**

“Baz, mate, you know this isn’t a race, right?”

I glare at Nathan—one of only two friends who responded to my text in the affirmative and actually showed up—as I set down my third empty glass since he arrived, not long ago. “Piss off.”

“ _You_ invited _us_ , remember?” he says, though he’s chuckling so I know I can’t have offended him too much. I think he’s used to me like this by now, and it just rolls off his back.

“Yeah, I thought you just wanted to get out,” Fran chimes in. “I didn’t realize you were, like, _sad drinking_ tonight.”

“I’m not _sad drinking_ ,” I snap, though not as quick as usual.

“Well, you’re _sad_ and you’re _drinking_ , so…”

“I’m _fine_.”

“Nah, you’ve been weird lately,” says Nathan. “And not just tonight.”

I glare at him again. (I glare at him a lot.) “How’ve I been _weird_ , then?”

“Well, none of us have seen you since last Friday.” Fran gives me a look of concern. I don’t like it. “And you were really distracted then.”

“So?”

“So what’s going on, Baz?”

“Nothing.”

Nathan glares back at me. “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.”

“I thought I told you to piss off,” I grumble, staring into my glass to see if I can magically wish it full again.

“Look at Mr. Sensitive over here…”

“Seriously, Baz, if I didn’t know any better—” Fran stops abruptly.

I slump back in my seat and fold my arms. “What. What were you going to say?”

She purses her lips together, like she’s trying to decide whether to tell me or not. “Well… It sort of seems lately that you… _like_ someone. _Really_ _like_ someone. But maybe things didn’t go the way you wanted with him.”

“Ohhh.” Nathan’s eyes go wide, like he’s just experienced a revelation. “Yeah… You were definitely text flirting with someone last time, weren’t you? You were all smiley and shit. You never look like that when you text.”

“Kill me now,” I mutter as I tip my head back against the wall behind me.

“So what happened, then?” he asks, ignoring my request for death. “Was he leading you on or something?”

“No…” I reply, though I don’t look at either of them. “It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?” Fran says gently.

I don’t know why either of them would care, and I probably shouldn’t burden them, but my mouth starts spilling words before my brain can stop it. “I doomed us before we even began,” I tell them. “There’s no way he’ll want to stay with me when he realizes how awful I am.”

“Stay with you?” Nathan sounds a bit incredulous. “Wait, are you actually seeing this guy? Like… more than once?”

I close my eyes. If I can’t wish my glass full, can I at least wish myself out of here?

“So, you do really like him, then?” Fran asks, and I nod because I’m too far in to keep lying now. “What about your roommate?”

“What?” I sit up straighter, startled, and frown at her in confusion. I try to think back over the past several minutes to determine if I accidentally mentioned his name.

“Are you still…?” She gives me a look like she thinks I know what she’s trying to say. (I don’t.) “I just mean, you’ve been kind of obsessed with him since the first day, so I could see how it might cause problems if you’re trying to start a relationship with someone while you obviously still have feelings for another person.”

“You—You think I have _feelings_ for Simon?” I say defensively. Which is ridiculous of me, because it’s absolutely true. _But how the fuck does she know that?_

She glances over at Nathan, like both of them are trying not to laugh. “Well, yeah,” she says to me with a pointed look. “You talk about him way too much for someone you supposedly can’t stand. And just now you called him Simon, instead of Snow.”

I sigh and rub my temples. “Fine. Yeah.”

“ _What?_ ” (Why are they so surprised all of a sudden?)

“I’m dating him, all right?”

“Shit,” Nathan mutters, like he probably didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Not sure for how much longer, though,” I say bitterly.

“Baz, don’t,” Fran says, but she keeps going before I can ask what she means. “Don’t keep pushing him away. You’ve done that enough. And if he’s dating you now, after all of that shit you pulled with him before, then pushing probably won’t work anyway. He’s in for the long haul.”

I want to argue, but I’m tired. I’m tired and I want to go to sleep, even though I think it’s still really early. I get out my mobile to check the time, only to find that I’ve got a message from Simon waiting for me. _Shit_.

“What time is it?” I ask frantically when I look at the timestamp on his message.

“You’re… looking at your phone, mate,” Nathan points out.

It takes me a moment to figure out where to find the current time—top corner, where it usually is, I guess—and another to calculate how long ago Simon texted me. Over an hour, at least.

“Shit.” I say that one out loud before sliding out of my seat.

“What’s wrong?” Fran asks, looking up at me with concern when I stand.

“I—Simon—I’ve gotta— _Fuck_.”

I realize as I’m walking away that I might have made it sound as though Simon and I desperately need to fuck, but I don’t have time for full sentences right now.

_“Sorry sorry sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. Please come back. I won’t make you talk about it. Please.”_

What the fuck is he talking about? Why is _he_ apologizing to _me_?

What have I done?

* * *

**SIMON**

He’s read it.

Baz has read my message—I know this, because I’ve been checking every thirty seconds since I sent it—but he hasn’t responded yet. It took him over an hour to so much as look at it, and now he’s ignoring me. Great.

I figure it would be too desperate—too _fucking pathetic_ —to text him again, so I wait. I wait for the typing dots to show up, but they don’t.

My throat’s starting to burn and my eyes are starting to sting, but I really don’t want to cry right now. It’s not even that I’m worried about Baz walking in and having the smug satisfaction of knowing he got to me so bad—I don’t think he’d do that anyway. I think if Baz walked in and I was crying, he would feel like shit. And I don’t want to do that to him.

His pain hurts more than my own.

I squeeze my eyes shut and steady my breath, which helps, but then I hear a key at the door and I bolt upright, seated on my bed where I’d been leaning against the wall. I assume it’s him, at least, but it’s taking an awfully long time for someone with the correct key to get the door open, so I go investigate.

I open the door and find him standing there—Baz—lurching forward with his hand on his key that he’d finally managed to get in the lock.

“Shit,” he mutters as he pushes against me to regain his balance before yanking his key out.

“Baz, are you okay?” I ask, mildly panicked, because I can tell something’s not right. This isn’t like him at all.

“I…” he says, holding onto my shoulders while he searches my face for… something. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He collapses forward, with his head now on my shoulder, too, and wraps his arms around me. His jacket, which he’d been carrying over one arm, falls to the floor and I kick it out of the way.

I drag him further into the room so the door can close and then put my arms around him as well, rubbing his back reassuringly. “Why are you sorry?” I ask. “If it’s for leaving at dinner, it’s okay. I get it—”

“Everything,” he says against my neck. “I’m sorry for everything, Simon, I—” He lifts his head to look me in the eye and he seems really worried, which isn’t easing my own worries at all.

I reach up to brush some of his hair out of his face and leave my hand resting there. “Baz, what’s—”

Before I can finish my thought, his lips are on mine with enough force that I stagger back a step. He pushes towards me, more, apparently dissatisfied with the sudden distance between us, and I end up with my back pressed against the inside of the door as he keeps kissing me. Like he needs it. Needs me.

He’s obviously been drinking. I can smell it. _Is he drunk, though?_

I doubt he’s thinking clearly, anyway. And the fact that he said he was sorry when he came in makes me wonder if that’s what he’s trying to do now. Apologize… with this? I don’t understand what’s happening.

I shouldn’t be as into this as I am.

But his tongue is in my mouth, and his hands are under my shirt, and his thigh is grinding against me, making the rational part of my brain start to slip out of focus. It doesn’t help that I’ve been so pent-up all day—hell, all _week_ , even. I feel like I could go off any second. The immediate sense of gratification would wear off quickly, though. (Probably.)

“Baz,” I say once his mouth leaves mine, heading for my neck. It’s rather embarrassing how much I’m panting right now, but I have to say something. “Hold on. Wait, just—”

He jerks back quickly, muttering, “Fuck,” under his breath as he retreats from me. He looks almost horrified, disgusted. But I don’t think it’s at me. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t—”

“Hey.” I reach out and hold him by the shoulders to steady him when he starts to waver, leading him towards his bed. “You know I’m not upset with you, right?”

He’s sitting against the edge of his bed when he looks up at me—he’s once again shorter than me, now—wide-eyed. “You should be,” he says, and I can tell he’s not joking. It’s not even derisive, it’s just… sad.

“Why do you think that?” I ask, brushing one of his cheekbones with my thumb.

“Because,” he says, dropping his head forward, “you’re a good person, Simon.”

I get a twinge of pain in my chest over the implication of his words. “So are you.”

He shakes his head so I move in closer to wrap him in a hug, without hesitation. His shoulders relax a little as he slumps into me and hugs me back. I suppose I’m not as bad at this hugging thing as I thought, anyway.

“The way I was, before everything…” he says, his words muffled slightly against my shoulder. “I’m… I’m a monster. I don’t deserve… you.”

I stroke the back of his head, in what I hope is a soothing manner; I think he might be crying. I can’t stand to see him like this. It takes all my strength not to break down, too.

“You’re not a monster, Baz,” I tell him. “You’re—You’re a good person.”

He squeezes his arms firmly around my middle and takes a deep yet shaky breath.

“You should get some sleep, okay?” I add quietly, and he nods his head against me before lifting it.

I help him take off his boots while he clumsily pulls off his cardigan and drops it on the floor by his feet. _He’s definitely pissed out of his mind._

I make sure to plug in his mobile over on his desk, and I tuck his discarded clothing and jacket into the closet, once he’s down to his pants and t-shirt, because I don’t want him to feel worse when he sobers up to find his stuff lying strewn about. Before I can get him out some pyjamas, though, he’s already crawling under the covers of his bed.

“Simon,” he says quietly, reaching a tired arm out towards me. “Will you…”

I nod, because I think I know what he’s asking, and when he slides himself over towards the wall, I’m sure of it. I turn around to take off my jeans and toss them in the direction of my bed, so that at least they will be on my side of the room, since I don’t think Baz would appreciate me leaving my clothes on his half. I contemplate getting my own pyjamas for a second, but decide just to match him in my t-shirt and pants.

His eyes keep drifting shut as I climb into the bed next to him, though it looks like he’s struggling not to let them.

I shift closer to him—not that it’s possible to get much closer that I already am, in this single bed—and rest my hand on the side of his face. “It’s okay,” I whisper to him. “Just sleep now.”

He lets his eyes close once and for all as I plant a kiss on his forehead. Placing his hand over mine, he lifts it away from his face so he can turn around completely, with his back to me, and pulls my arm to wrap around him tightly.

“Goodnight.” I press my face into his his back, nuzzling his hair out of the way so I can kiss him right at the base of his neck, and he brings my hand up to kiss my knuckles in return.

He murmurs something, with his lips pressed against my hand, but I can’t quite be sure of what he says. I mean, I know what it sounds like to me. But it’s so faint and he’s so out of it, that it could just be incoherent mumbling.

It’s probably better for me to err on the side of caution, and not say the thing I really want to say right now.

_“I love you, too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Baz's uni friends are OCs because I figure Dev and Niall are his friends from back home--but that's something for another day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz know they should probably have a talk about their _feelings_. But when a slightly more pressing issue crops up, they find a way to multi-task. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT WARNING. This is one of the more _Explicit_ chapters, so if you don't find that sort of thing funny/amusing/whatever, then maybe this isn't for you. It's pretty awkward, too, as per usual.
> 
> This chapter begins the morning after the last one ends. Apparently Baz is a champ at handling the headache/nausea/hangover after getting drunk. Or maybe it's mostly delayed for him, because he does get quite pissy later...

**BAZ**

I feel kind of terrible.

My mouth tastes disgusting, my head is slightly pulsating, and my hair is matted at the nape of my neck with stale sweat.

But I also feel kind of good. (So good, actually.)

Because he’s right here. Simon Snow is lying right in front of me, in my bed, and he’s warm and delicious and mine. Even after everything I’ve done. Even with everything left to figure out. He’s still here.

A pleasant feeling of reassurance washes over me as I slowly wake up in his presence, and I hug him so tight around his waist that I worry he might not be able to breathe. So I let go. A little.

“Hey,” he says, squeezing my hand in his. His voice is a bit croaky, since it’s he’s just waking up, too, though it seems like he was already mostly there by the time I starting crushing him with my arm.

“Hey,” I echo before kissing him gently at the base of his neck.

He hums contentedly, and I nuzzle against him more, just breathing him in, because I never get a chance like this. He’s always freshly showered by the time I wake up, and while I have nothing against his soaps, particularly, they don’t hold a candle to _him_. His essence.

I inhale his scent again. I kiss his skin again. I slide my hand up under his t-shirt and brush my fingers over his stomach, prompting him to let out a small yet audible gasp. I force my eyes open, just to take him in with all my senses now, and focus in on one of his little constellations of freckles and moles, right below his ear.

I lift my head so I can lean in and kiss him right there, and the low grunt I get in response is worth the discomfort inside my skull, a thousand times over. He keeps his hand resting over mine but doesn’t stop me from moving further up his chest. I’m going tortuously slow because I’m in no rush to leave this hazy, post-dream limbo, before the the realities of the world set in.

He gasps again when my thumb brushes past his nipple, and I can’t help but smile into his neck. I brush over it again, more deliberately this time, and he arches against me, making me painfully aware of how hard I am—and he’s surely aware, as well.

 

**SIMON**

_Whoa_. Somehow, I wasn’t quite expecting this.

I’m not complaining, though.

I can’t help but push my hips back while Baz continues to play with my nipple— _why does this feel so good and how did I not know?_ —because it makes me feel like I need to stretch out in all directions. Like my whole body is yawning. Every time I do, I grow increasingly aware of the hardness pressing against me, and my own starts to ache.

He breathes my name into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, as he stills his hand on my chest. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“I thought you were,” I say with a laugh, though my breath is so shallow now that I sound ridiculous while trying to be funny.

“I meant,” he says, pausing to nip at my earlobe, “ _lower_.”

I nod as he resumes kissing my neck, softly, and he begins to drag his hand down my chest so slow that I think he must be trying to kill me.

But what a way to die.

 

**BAZ**

Simon’s practically writhing against me as I tease him; it’s rather amusing. And arousing. He has to bite down on his knuckle to stifle a groan.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” I tell him. My voice sounds desperate but I don’t care. “I like the sounds you make.”

“But… Neighbours will… hear us… They’ll…”

I smirk and place a kiss right behind his ear. “They’ll what, Simon?”

He grunts again as he turns his whole body all the way around to face me, and I pull his leg over my hip. “They’ll know,” he says, his chest still rising and falling heavily with his breath.

I pull him closer and slot my leg between his. “Know what?”

“That we’re…” He pauses and bites his lip, trying to think of the next word.

“Boyfriends?” I suggest, at the same time that he blurts out, “—Fucking.”

I snort, involuntarily. “So?”

“Doesn’t it bother you if people know?” he asks, running his hand through my hair and playing with the ends of it.

“No,” I reply, which seems to surprise him a little. Now that the not-so-secret secret is slipping out, it doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. “Does it bother you?”

“Are you kidding?” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he pushes me onto my back, rolling on top of me as he kicks the duvet out of the way. “I want to open our window and shout it for the whole world to hear.”

“Don’t you dare open that window,” I say as I hold the back of his neck firmly and pull his mouth down to mine for a kiss. “It’s five bloody degrees outside.”

He lowers his knees to the bed on either side of my hips and pushes his hands into the mattress by my head, holding himself above me. “But how will people know what we’re doing, then?”

“I’ll just have to make you scream my name loud enough.” I lift my eyebrows suggestively, exaggerated to a comical extreme, until we both start laughing.

Letting himself fall forward onto his elbows so his chest is flush with mine, he kisses me again as our laughter trickles off. “You’re a fucking dork,” he mutters against my mouth, and then cuts off my next laugh with his tongue.

“You love it,” I reply a moment later, practically breathless, as he makes his way down my neck.

“Yeah.”

 

**SIMON**

I laugh my response to him, but it’s true. I do love it. I love everything about Baz, and how he makes me feel when he’s being himself. I wonder if other people get to see him like this—well, not like _this_ , but just… happy, I guess?

“Do your friends know?” I ask suddenly, lifting my head to look him in the eye.

He seems a bit disoriented and blinks at me for a second. “What do you mean?”

“Do they know about… us?” I kiss his jaw because I want him to know this isn’t an interrogation.

“Some do,” he says, though he sounds hesitant.

“Can I meet them?”

“You… want to meet my friends?”

I look him in the eye again and give him a grin. “Of course,” I say as I comb my fingers through his hair, splayed out on the pillow. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about my friends right now.” He reaches up for my mouth with his and I fall further onto him.

“Why not?” I ask as he kisses a spot on my cheek that he likes to go for a lot—I think it’s one of my moles. “Don’t you like them?”

“Not as much as this,” he says, grabbing my hips and pulling me firmly against him.

 

**BAZ**

Simon laughs again, but it comes out as a shuddering exhalation as I slide my hands up the back of his shirt. I don’t think I’m as cold as usual, after spending the night cozied up to him, but his skin is still warmer than mine.

I continue to push his shirt up as he presses against me, but slow is no longer an option for me now, so I’m soon trying to pull it off over his head without taking my lips off of him. (Not possible, as it turns out.)

He sits up to pull his t-shirt right off and then shifts back, making room for me to sit up so he can remove mine as well. He holds onto my bare shoulders and pulls me closer to reach his mouth, and I have to angle my head up to do so as he’s on his knees above me. I think he likes this, being the taller one sometimes. I think I like this, too.

With my arms around his waist, I kiss him down to his collarbone as he grasps some of my hair in his fist, pulling just enough to make me moan against his skin. I graze him with my teeth and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Was that okay?” I ask, lifting my head to try and read his expression.

“God, yes! Just—” He nods and chews on his lip, like he’s trying not to say something else.

I kiss him right below his jaw. “Just what?”

“I just, um,” he begins, his grip on my hair loosened but not released. “I wasn’t expecting… to like that quite so much. The teeth thing.”

“Oh?” I smile against his neck, exposing my teeth to nip at his skin again.

He digs his hand into the back of my head and lets out a whine, a delicate blend of pleasure and pain—it’s fucking beautiful, actually. I love finding out all the little noises he makes in the heat of the moment. I want to learn to play him like my violin, create exquisite music with him.

 

**SIMON**

We fumble a little trying to get each other’s pants off from our current position, but after some awkward rearranging and laughing, I end up on my back, this time, with Baz leaning part way over to kiss me again. He slots one of his legs between mine and slides an arm under my neck. It makes me feel safe, the way he’s holding me. Like he’s doing this because he cares about me. Like he’s not just trying to get off with someone.

And that just makes me want to get him off more.

“Just a second,” he says when he pulls away suddenly, reaching all the way across me to open the top drawer under his bed.

I prop myself up on my elbows and crane my neck to see what he’s doing. “What… is…” I begin, but I lose my train of thought as soon as he opens it.

It appears to be a box full of _sexual paraphernalia_ —most of which is unrecognizable to me—and I’m not even sure what I’m thinking now. _Is it possible to be mildly panicked and turned on at the same time?_

“Sorry, just—Ignore all this,” he says, probably because he notices the look on my face. He’s already taken something out of it, so he shoves the box over the side of the bed into the drawer, without even putting the lid back on.

“Um…” I can’t help but stare at the small bottle he left on the bed next to us. The label isn’t visible from this angle, but I can guess what it is. “Y—You know I’ve never… done… um… Well, I’ve never had anyone… in… me.”

“Christ, Simon!” he says with a surprised laugh. “I wasn’t—That’s not what this…” He laughs again, lightly, and leans over me once more, twisting his fingers through my hair as he gazes down at me. “It’s okay.”

I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me like that before. It’s like this special blend of desire and concern and playful condescension that’s just for me.

It’s almost enough to make me certain that I didn’t mishear him last night after all.

 

**BAZ**

“I would never make you do something you’re not comfortable with anyway,” I continue, watching the way my fingers move through his curls for a moment. (They haven’t been as frizzy lately since I told him to stop sandpapering his damp hair with a towel. And he listened.) (I’m strangely proud of that.)

“Besides,” I add quietly, still focused on my hand in his hair because I’m a bit embarrassed by what I’m about to say, and can’t look at him directly, “I haven’t exactly… done that with anyone, either.” When I finally like my eyes settle back on his, he looks slightly perplexed.

“But—But you have sex all the time,” he says, and I have to stifle a laugh at the sincerity on his face.

“What, have you been watching me?”

He uncomfortably shifts his gaze to my shoulder and starts to run his hand over it. “Well, I almost did once,” he mutters, and then looks up at me again. “And you kicked me out of here enough times for that very reason, so…”

“First of all, I wasn’t having sex every time I asked you to leave the room.” I feel myself getting defensive about this, but I don’t know why. It’s as though, all of a sudden, I’m ashamed for having more experience than him. (And also for not having as much as he seems to think.) “Plus, there are all sorts of ways to have sex with someone. And some stuff can make you feel more vulnerable than others. It depends how much you trust the person, I suppose.”

Simon’s expression grows more serious as he stares right into me, his hand sliding along my shoulder and up the back of my neck. “I trust you, though, Baz,” he says, practically whispering. “Completely.”

 

**SIMON**

That’s a change, certainly. A week ago, I wasn’t sure I could trust him, but I took a leap anyway. Because I wanted to know if I could. And now I’m lying under him, completely exposed, and it feels kind of like the first time with him all over again—I still don’t know what I’m doing, not really—but it also feels like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

His arm under my neck is hugging me closer, and if it weren’t for the fact that I’m still hard against him, I’d say I could just lie here like this forever, motionless, staring into his stormy eyes. (They look darker with his pupils wide like this, which is pretty fucking hot, actually.)

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” I add, because I don’t care how much he has or hasn’t done all of this with anyone else. Not anymore. Besides, I know that none of the guys who’ve been through here could have wanted him as much as I do in this moment. I’m sure of it. And he wants me, too.

That’s all that matters. Everything else is extra. Just the cherry on top.

He clenches a fistful of my hair in his hand as his eyes dart to my lips. “Just kiss me, Simon,” he says.

So I do.

The kissing is less frantic now, but more intense. Every flicker of his tongue gives me a little thrill, and when he starts to rock his hips against me, I can’t help but moan into his mouth. I wonder if this feels as good to him as it does to me. Maybe this shouldn’t feel so good. I almost think I could come from this if I’m not careful—though I soon discover that is fully his intention.

He double- and triple-checks that I’m okay with this, and picks up the small bottle he left on the bed next to us. I didn’t exactly realize that lube had an external purpose as well—hence my previous moment of alarm—so he teases me about that while spreading some up and down the length of my cock with his hand. Slowly. Extracting a long, shaky exhale from my lungs.

I forgot how good he was at this.

 

**BAZ**

Watching Simon squirm beneath me has got to be one of the best things I’ve seen all week. But when I stop all of a sudden, he whimpers my name—fucking _whimpers_ —and looks up at me, cheeks flushed. I swear, I could devour him on the spot.

“Can I…?” he asks shyly, glancing at the bottle when I pick it up again and pop the lid open single-handed. (Maybe not a skill I should brag about.)

I raise an eyebrow at him questioningly, but let him take it. He fumbles with it for a second in order to get some out on his hand before reaching down between us, and lift my hips enough for him to get a hold of me. He locks eyes with me as he strokes my cock slowly, deliberately—no button-smashing this time. (Not that I would really mind, because _fuck_ , Simon Snow touching my cock is so much better than Simon Snow not touching my cock.) (What the hell have we been doing for weeks that was so much more important than _this_?)

“Baz…” he says, urging me down by the back of my neck again with his other hand, and I collapse slightly onto him as I try to support myself in the sudden shifting of my weight. “I love you, too, you know.”

 _Too?_ I think back over my last words to figure out what this could be in response to, and then it hits me.

Last night.

I was falling asleep and he was so warm against me and it felt so right and I just… I hadn’t realized he’d heard that—he certainly didn’t mention it at the time—which was something of a relief. But now it seems he did.

I don’t know what to say; I’m just hovering over him, face to face, my hair hanging in his eyes and our noses pushed together, and I’m practically panting onto his mouth as he keeps stroking. It’s all too much—it’s all too good.

Part of me wants to pull away. To laugh. To run. To set myself on fire.

But I don’t. I just nod.

It’s as if relief washes over him instantly, and he pulls in my bottom lip with his teeth. I whine like I always do, because I’m weak. I’m weak and he knows me too well, and instead of filling me with terror, like it usually would, that thought puts me at ease.

 

**SIMON**

Baz kisses me back enthusiastically before trailing his lips down my jaw and neck once more, nipping at the skin below my ear with his teeth, which makes me gasp again, as he pushes his hips down against me.

It takes me a moment to realize there’s no longer room for my hand between us, and another moment for me to figure out what to do with it now. I end up brushing some of his hair back out of our faces, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that I’m accidentally getting lube everywhere. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. (Is that possible?)

I don’t quite know what this is, right now, honestly. But it feels even better than before, now that there’s more slip between our bodies, and I definitely appreciate the hands-free aspect. Especially when Baz tugs on my hair again with one hand while gently squeezing the side of my waist with the other, right where it’s the squishiest—the first sign of impending _love handles_ , I’m sure, but I get the distinct impression he likes it.

 

**BAZ**

I’m keeping a mental catalogue of Simon’s softest parts, because I intend one day to properly appreciate each of them in depth with my hands and lips and teeth—that’s next on my to-do list after methodically counting all the moles on his neck, of course—but today I’m settling for massaging the side of his waist, right above his hips. (I know he’s a bit ticklish there, because yesterday I poked him in that spot while we were cuddled up, watching Netflix, and he practically tittered.)

I try anything that I think he might like, since there’s so much still to learn, and I silently congratulate myself every time I find something that makes him louder. He’s going to wake the whole fucking building, and I love it.

He’s getting more into the swing of it all, too, lifting his hips to press against me as we find a rhythm with our bodies that means I’m not going to last much longer. I almost consider slowing down, but then I hear it. That desperate sound he makes when he’s close—the sound that shoots fire through my insides, like I’m gonna come so hot it’ll melt metal.

I lift my head to watch his face, screwed up in delicious agony, and give one last tug on his curls, jerking his head slightly more my way. I have a perfect view when his eyes shoot open in surprise, mouth agape, and the sound he makes is downright pornographic.

I follow suit shortly, grunting unflatteringly through my own release, and rest my forehead against his cheek for a moment before pulling back to look him in the eye.

“Fucking beautiful, Simon,” I say, breathing heavily.

“You are,” he replies as he brushes my hair back behind my ear again. “You’re incredible.”

I shake my head and nuzzle it into his neck. I feel a mole there with my lips so I plant a kiss on it. “No, you.”

* * *

**SIMON**

This isn’t exactly what I was expecting, when I managed to talk Baz into inviting some of his friends to get lunch with us today. Honestly, I didn’t really think it was fair for me to take advantage of the fact that he’d literally just rolled off of me—hadn’t even fully caught his breath yet—and was probably too sex-happy to say no. (I certainly wouldn’t have said no to anything he wanted, then.) (Or ever, really.)

At the time, he scooped up his mobile from his desk and flopped back down beside me to compose his message to his friends, which I caught a glimpse of as he was writing it. He asked if they wanted to meet _“the roommate from hell”_ today—though I stole it from him once I saw him type, _“who is currently covered in my spunk,”_ and deleted that part. Which made him laugh.

He didn’t seem nearly as light-hearted about the whole idea as lunchtime approached, though, but he didn’t cancel.

So here we are.

And, yeah, his friends aren’t exactly what I was expecting. They’re so… normal, I guess. Funny, even. I’m not sure why that surprises me, considering what I know about Baz now. Though I suppose his sense of humour came as a surprise to me at first, too.

They’ve been telling me embarrassing stories about him for half an hour, and he’s tried to keep a neutral expression, but I can tell he’s been flickering between _amused_ and _mortified_ the whole time. When one of his friends—the girl, Fran—says that he’s been obsessed with me for months, he scoffs.

“I’ve not been _obsessed_ ,” he insists, looking off towards the dining hall window. (It’s not our usual dining hall this time, it’s the one in Nathan’s residence building—the other friend with us today.)

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that a different _‘obnoxiously heterosexual’_ roommate you’ve been going on about this whole time?” Nathan asks with a laugh.

Baz glares at him. “I have no qualms about murdering you.”

“Obnoxiously heterosexual?” I say, looking over at Baz while trying to raise one eyebrow, but I can’t do it the way he does.

“Well, I thought you were, at the time,” he replies quietly.

“You didn’t ask!”

He finally turns to me. “You _told me_ you weren’t gay!”

“Are we seriously having this argument again?” I say, even though I actually find it kind of funny now.

“At least the obnoxious part was accurate.”

“Trouble in paradise, boys?” Nathan asks mockingly, and Baz snaps his head back to glare at him again. (I can tell Baz doesn’t actually hate him, though, because he’s nearly chuckled at several of Nathan’s jokes already.)

“I’m just glad you two finally figured this all out,” Fran says, adjusting her glasses in a way that looks almost like a signal of some kind, but I think they were just slipping.

Nathan smirks at Baz, though it’s much more goofy-looking than condescending. “Yeah, Baz, how’d you manage it?”

“Manage what?” Baz asks impatiently.

“Well, one minute Simon’s your obnoxiously heterosexual roommate, and the next he’s your… boyfriend?”

“Hey, I’m not _obnoxiously heterosexual_ ,” I cut in. “I’m _annoyingly bisexual_ , thank you very much. I haven’t been heterosexual for over a year.”

Nathan snorts at my joke, so I’m fairly pleased with myself.

Baz turns his attention back to me and frowns. “Wait, you’ve known for a year?”

“Um, sort of?” I reply hesitantly. “I mean, that’s when I first thought… Yeah, maybe.”

I see his eyebrows flick up as he looks away again, and I’m not sure what that means. But he looks like he’s not even remotely having fun anymore.

“Aw, what, did you think you _discovered_ him, Baz?” Nathan teases. “Claimed him in the name of France?”

“Fuck off,” Baz mutters after a brief moment of seething, and then gets up quickly and marches away.

I can tell by the expression on Nathan’s face that he didn’t intend to push him so far. Fran smacks Nathan on the arm and calls him a dickhead.

“Sorry, mate, I was joking,” he calls after Baz, but Baz doesn’t stop. Nathan gives me an apologetic look. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” I say with a nod, but I stand anyway, because I don’t know what the fuck else to do but chase after Baz. “It was nice meeting you guys, but I have to…”

Fran nods as well. “Go on. We’ll see you soon, yeah, Simon?”

I give her a tight smile and a super awkward thumbs up— _what the fuck is wrong with me?_ —before grabbing Baz’s jacket, which he left behind, and hurrying to catch up with him. I don’t get to him until he’s outside, though. I reach for his forearm, which is exposed from where he rolled his sleeve up to his elbow at lunch, and find that it’s already freezing. But it’s November—and he’s Baz—so I’m not surprised.

“Here.” I hand him his jacket when he stops, and he puts it on begrudgingly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles and tries to keep walking, but I rein him back in by grabbing his hand.

“Something’s clearly bothering you,” I say, pulling him closer so I can lower my voice, since we aren’t exactly in a private location. I run my thumb over the back of his knuckles, in what I hope is a reassuring manner. “Tell me. Please.”

He combs his other hand back through his hair and shakes his head. “I just feel like an idiot.”

“Why?”

“Forget it, I don’t—” He stops abruptly as soon as he catches a glimpse of something past my shoulder, and I turn to look without even thinking.

“What is—” I stop, too, once I realize what he’s seen.

There’s a guy walking down the pavement, heading our way. Baz must recognize him. I mean, I know he must, because even _I_ recognize him.

And I wasn’t the one making out with him that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, sorry for..... whatever this was. I mean, I really shouldn't write this stuff, but.... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an awkward encounter with an old acquaintance, Baz and Simon have a chat and learn some things. Baz has kissed a girl. Simon doesn't know what straight people look like. Baz isn't _nice._ And Simon isn't _easy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the guy with Baz in that awkward as hell scene from [chapter 2 of _What I Want_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17599667/chapters/41512562)? Well @giishu named him and claimed him as our son, so of course he had to make a reappearance. I am excited to formally introduce you all to Alex, at long last. Bless his soul. I'm weeping with pride.

**BAZ**

_Fuck._

_Shit._

_Fucking shit._

This has to be a nightmare. Then again, this is my life, so I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming.

Of course the first time Simon and I run into a guy I’ve dated—which I knew was practically an inevitability, to be fair—it has to be _him_. I was honestly hoping I’d never have to see him again in my life. (I’ve even been avoiding the third floor of the university library as much as possible, since he works in the computer lab there.)

I just want to forget about what an asshole I’d been that night, both to Simon and to him—Alex? I think that was his name. _Fuck, I don’t remember_. Maybe I won’t have to talk to him at all. Maybe he won’t even see us.

Nope. He definitely sees us. I can tell because his walking pace slowed for a second when he looked our way, and now he’s got this awkward, polite smile on his face as he’s veering more towards us. He’s going to fucking talk to us, _Jesus Christ_ —

“Hey, Baz. How’s it going?” he says, stopping in front of us, like he’s one of those people who thinks that you always have to stop and chat with everyone you run into if you’ve met them before. (I don’t understand those people.)

“Fine,” I say stiffly. I suddenly realize that Simon’s still squeezing my hand, and my embarrassment intensifies exponentially.

Alex— _I’m still not sure_ —looks at Simon now and greets him, too. “You’re Baz’s roommate, yeah? Snow?”

Simon lets my hand slip from his. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I—I go by Simon, but yeah.”

“Simon. Cool.” Alex reaches out to shake Simon’s now-empty hand. “I’m Alex.” (At least I was right about that.)

“Hey,” Simon replies.

“Hey.” Alex smiles again and folds his arms over his chest. “So… The two of you seem to be on better terms, now, than the last time I saw you.”

“Er, yeah, well… We, um—“

“Look,” I cut in before Simon can finish whatever he was going to say, attempting to spare him the brunt of the awkwardness, “I’m really sorry for my behaviour that night. I was being a dick, and—”

“It’s all right, Baz,” Alex adds. “I sort of figured it out, afterwards. I mean, you complained about him a fair amount on our date, and then…”

“I… I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.” He almost looks like he wants to laugh. “Like, no offence, but I just went out with you to have a good time; I wasn’t picking out china patterns. So you can relax.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” I nod and shift my weight from one leg to the other to try and fight back the urge to just fucking run.

“Well, anyway…” he adds after a moment of awkward silence has passed. “I’ve gotta go, but it was nice seeing you again.”

I know there’s absolutely no way that could be sincere, but I force a tight smile and he bumps me in the arm with his fist as he resumes walking in the direction he’d been heading. I watch him for a second, to make sure he’s gone, but Simon pulls my attention back in towards him when he squeezes my hand again.

He looks a bit concerned, even though he’s smiling. I almost think he’s going to try and ask me what’s bothering me, again, out here in the middle of the street, but he doesn’t. He just reaches up to kiss the side of my face and says, “Let’s go back to our place, babe.”

 _Babe_.

Is he fucking with me? Does he even realize he’s saying it? Does he know what that does to me?

I’m so ruined.

* * *

**SIMON**

I make a point not to bring it up until we’re back in our room.

For the walk back, I just babbled about how I thought Baz’s friends were cool, and asked him if he wanted to watch something on Netflix for the rest of the afternoon, since neither of us have classes. It seems to have to loosened him up a bit, so as soon as we get in—after he’s carefully put away his jacket and boots, of course—he leans against the side of his bed casually and pulls me in for a kiss.

“Hey,” I say softly, leaning against him with my forehead once I reluctantly draw my mouth away from his. It’s hard not to just let myself get swept up in snogging for the next three hours, but I really think we should discuss whatever it is that’s been bothering him lately. Because I think it’s about me.

His shoulders tense up a bit, and I can tell that he knows what I want to talk about, but he circles his arms around me and holds me closer anyway. “Hey, yourself.”

I lift my head back now, since I feel it will be better to see his face for this, and I rub his shoulders to relax them. “So,” I begin, trying to keep this as light as I can, “something really got to you at lunch, huh?”

He looks off to one side of me, his eyes cast downward, and shrugs. “I know I overreacted, all right?” he mutters, more like he’s embarrassed than angry.

“Honestly, I don’t know that,” I tell him with a chuckle, since I think it’s okay to joke about it a little, now. (I’m slowly figuring this out.) “I don’t know what happened. You could be extremely justified in storming out like that.”

He snorts a laugh, weakly, before looking up at me. “I can assure you, I was not.”

“How come?” I ask, and he sighs.

“I… Somehow I’d got it in my head that…When you first told me you were… Well, you said you were _probably bi_ , and I just thought…” He sighs again and brings one hand up to rake back his hair that’s falling in his face. He’s not usually so inarticulate, but I let him take his time. “I thought maybe it was me.”

I watch him for another moment before I realize that’s all he’s going to say.

“You thought what was you?” I ask, and I’m sure the concern is showing on my face because he looks away again, like he’s ashamed.

“I’m such a fucking arrogant—”

“What are you saying?”

“I thought that, maybe, I was the reason you figured out that you’re…”

“Probably bi?” I suggest as the end of that sentence.

“Fuck, what’s wrong with me?” He covers his hand over his face, but I pull it away and place mine on his cheek instead.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ with you, Baz.”

“But how self-centred do I have to be to get off on the thought of you only realizing that you— _Jesus_ , did I seriously think I was the only bloke you’d ever been attracted to?”

“I mean, you are very self-centred,” I tease, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. (I’d be self-centred, too, if I looked as good as he does all the time.) “But, to be fair, you’re, like, the second bloke I’ve ever had a crush on, pretty much.”

He lifts his gaze to meet mine again, like he’s trying to see if I’m telling the truth or just bullshitting to cheer him up.

“Besides,” I continue, “you’re the first _person_ I’ve ever… wanted this much.”

“You said you had a girlfriend before.”

“Yeah, but me and Aggie—er, that was her name, Agatha—we figured we were better as friends,” I say, nodding. “I mean, I loved her, but not in… that way.” I let my other hand trail down to his chest and gently clutch the front of his shirt. “ _This_ way.”

“And she also… It was mutual, right?”

“Oh, yeah, completely. She’s a lesbian now, actually. I mean, she probably was back then, too, but neither of us knew that.”

“Christ, Simon, have you ever even met a straight person?” (He’s joking now, which is a good sign.)

“Possibly,” I say with a smile. “What do they look like?”

“That’s the scary part, Simon. They look just like us,” he says, like he’s telling a ghost story. He smirks a little. “Well, more like you than me.”

“Are you saying you look gayer than me?”

“Yes, but I am gayer than you.”

I chuckle again. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair. You’ve kissed more guys than I have, anyway. And I’ve kissed more girls.”

“Oh? How many, beside your ex?”

“Uh, none. Just her. But that’s still more than you… isn’t it?”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “You think I’ve never kissed a girl?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Well, I have,” he says stiffly. “Once. On a dare. When I was fifteen. It was horrible.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing. “Oh my god. I’m sorry, but that’s hilarious.”

“Peer-pressured kissing is quite a vile teenage ritual, and one of the reasons I stopped letting my cousin drag me to parties,” he says, though he looks like he’s resisting the urge to laugh as well.

“Was it your first?” I ask. “Kiss, I mean.”

He grimaces and nods.

I smile a little before pressing forward to give him a small kiss. “This is better, right?” I add quietly.

“So much,” he says, running his hands up and down my back.

“Too bad I couldn’t be your first, huh?” I joke, as I kiss the side of his face now.

“You are, though.” He almost seems shy when I pull back to look at him in confusion. “Not my first kiss, but… I haven’t… I’ve never been in an actual relationship before, to be honest.”

“Never?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He shrugs, like he’s trying to seem like it doesn’t bother him, but it clearly does. “One-night stands and ‘friends with benefits,’ but no boyfriend. No one who…”

I cup the side of his face again when he lowers his head. “No one who what?”

“Actually gave a shit about me, I guess.”

“That’s not true,” I say, a lump forming at the back of my throat. I know he’s not saying that’s still true—he knows _I give a shit_ , I’m sure—but there’s no way I’m the first. “Anyone who knew you the way I do would—”

“No one’s ever known me like this, Simon,” he says, like he’s embarrassed to admit it. But he laughs sadly. “I’m usually better at pushing people away. I guess I’m off my game.”

“Well, I can tell you’re trying your best,” I say, and smile when he looks back up at me so he knows I’m teasing. “But you might want to be careful. I mean, you even apologized to Alex for that other night. Keep this up, and someone might try to accuse you of being _nice_. Again.”

He snorts again and looks away, so I pull his head back to face me. Because I’ve come to a realization about him—something that’s been building in the back of my mind for some time now—and I just have to say it.

“I mean, not me, because I know better than to make such an accusation. I’ve learned my lesson,” I tease, and then let my tone grow more serious. “You’re not nice, Baz. Not really. But fuck nice. Nice is, well, _nice_ and all, but it doesn’t really mean shit. I’d rather someone who truly _cares_ about stuff—about _me_ —than someone who’s just _nice_.”

Before he has a chance to argue, I clamp my hand over his mouth.

“Don’t you dare say that you don’t care about stuff,” I say sternly, but I can’t keep the hint of a smile off my face. “You care so fucking much, Baz, I can tell. Maybe too much, sometimes. And some people might say that’s weak, but I know it’s not. You’re strong. And vulnerable. And strong enough to be vulnerable with me. And—”

“Smmn,” he mumbles under my hand, which startles me into moving it. He smiles back at me, condescendingly. “You’re an idiot.”

I let out an indignant laugh. “Why am I an idiot?”

“Only you would be stupid enough to think I had any redeeming qualities, frankly,” he says, and though his expression is somewhat joking, I suspect that he actually believes his words.

“I’m stupid for liking you?”

“Yes.”

I shove him in the chest, but then pull him back in by the front of his shirt immediately. “Fine, whatever,” I say with an exaggerated huff. “I’m stupid. I’m an idiot. I’m pathetic. I’m—” I stop when I realize how loaded that last word is, given what happened yesterday. What we still haven’t talked about. What I don’t really want to talk about.

He seems to bristle a bit when I say it, and his concern grows on his face. “Uh, Simon, I—”

“But it’s okay,” I interrupt, smiling to assure him this doesn’t need to be a big thing right now. “I don’t mind being stupid if it means I get to spend the afternoon in bed with you.”

His eyebrows shoot up as I hook my finger between two of the buttons on his shirt and lean in closer.

“I want to…” I continue, my voice lowered slightly, “…cuddle up and watch the second series of _The Good Place_ with you.”

He smirks at me, like he’s holding in a laugh. “Dork.”

I kiss him. “You love it.”

* * *

**BAZ**

“So…” Fran says slowly, once we’re sat and waiting for our drinks at my preferred table. She’s the one who brought me to Steam and Sugar the first time, anyhow, since she’s lived in town her whole life and knows where all the best places are. (It’s quite useful having this insider information, at times.)

“So,” I echo impatiently, unable to hide the fact that this whole situation is making me uncomfortable.

It’s not that I don’t get along with Fran, but I’m not used to this. I don’t really do one-on-one friendships. I need enough other people around that they can carry on a conversation without me, once I’ve had my fill of socializing. Besides, it’s a bit strange that she hasn’t brought Nathan—she can be so obvious sometimes, but he’s an idiot and will probably never know how she feels because she’s too stubborn to say it. (I’m one to talk, I know.) (But I don’t involve myself in their heteronormative nonsense, anyway.)

She made it clear when she asked to meet with me today, though, that he wasn’t invited. I assume that means she wants to have a serious conversation—an impossibility when he’s around, to be fair—hence my uneasiness.

“Okay, well, I know you don’t like small talk—and neither do I,” she continues, linking her hands in front of her on the table. “So, I’m just going to cut to the chase. I’m—We’re concerned, Baz. About you.”

I roll my eyes and let out a derisive chuckle. “I’m fine, but thanks.”

She frowns at me. “What happened the other day wasn’t—”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I cut in. The idea that my friends are concerned about _that_ is more than a little humiliating.

“Look, I’m sorry that we were teasing you in front of Simon,” she adds. “You know it’s ‘cause we like you, right?”

I scoff and lean back in my chair. “Sadly, I’m already spoken for,” I quip, looking out the window and hoping desperately that my discomfort isn’t entirely transparent at the moment. I doubt I’m that fortunate, however.

I’m too busy looking out the window to notice her pick up a sugar packet from the little dish on the table, until it hits me in the face when she flicks it at me.

“Jesus!” I grumble, startled, as I scrub my hand over my cheek.

“You finished?” she asks, and I know she’s talking about my indifferent pretence, so I nod reluctantly and lean forward on my elbows. If this is going to happen, I might as well let it happen.

“I appreciate your concern,” I say, and I almost don’t sound sarcastic. “But there’s no need for it.”

She studies my face for a moment and sighs. “Alright, I have to ask… Why Simon?”

My shoulders tense and I glare at her. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she adds quickly, holding her hands up in surrender. “I like Simon. Simon’s great. Really. But so was Ewen. So was Alex. So was—”

“How do you know I went out with Alex?”

“I use the computer lab at the library a lot,” she says. “He’s chatty.”

My eyes go wide for a second. “What did he tell you?”

“I dunno, that you went out or something.” She shrugs. (She doesn’t know everything. Good.)

“Fine,” I say, relaxing a little. “What’s your point?”

“I’m just saying, you’ve been out with plenty of guys—not, like, in a bad way, it’s just a fact, yeah? But what makes Simon so… special?” she asks casually, as if the question itself doesn’t make me feel like I’m being sliced open. “Like, I know you’ve been obsessing over him since the term started, but why? Is it because he’s your roommate? A proximity thing? Convenience?”

I nearly laugh out loud, considering how inconvenient so much of this has been.

“I mean, I get it,” she continues. “He’s cute and sweet and all that. But would you still be this into him if he was just some random bloke on campus? If he wasn’t so… easy?”

I choke a little, in surprise. “You think I’m into Simon because he’s _easy_?”

Someone sets down a flat white in front of me all of a sudden, and I realize that the server bringing our drinks just heard me say that. She just smiles politely and asks if we need anything before taking our number and walking away.

“Not like _that_ ,” Fran says once the server is out of earshot again. “But, you know, he clearly really likes you and wants to please you—”

I bring my hand up to massage my forehead, like I’ve got a headache, just to hide the embarrassment on my face.

“—and I worry that… That maybe you’re…” She sighs again, and I start to dread whatever she’s going to say even more. “Maybe you’re sort of, um, taking advantage of that? Not, like, consciously! I don’t mean it that way. But you kind of created this version of him in your mind, didn’t you? Before you really knew him. And now that he likes you, too, it’s like… Like you can make him be however you want now.”

I lift my head to stare at her for a moment, incredulous. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, pushing back from the table to stand, but she asks me to wait, and I do.

“I’m not saying this to offend you, Baz,” she says. “Just, when one day you’re drunkenly ranting in the pub about how pathetic and gullible you think he is, and then two weeks later you start dating him, it… concerns me.”

“Is your concern for me or for Simon, then?” I ask bitterly.

“Both.”

“I’m not _using_ him. I can’t even—” I shake my head, unable to form the words. Unable to _find_ the words.

“Baz, it’s okay, I just—I was just making sure that you feel like this is right for you,” she says. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am,” I grumble, my words rather unconvincing with my tone.

“Good.” She nods, as if it was a sufficient answer, anyway. “So… Does Simon know that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it might be kind of confusing why Baz doesn't want people to think he chases after straight guys, but also liked the idea of being the catalyst for Simon's sexual self-discovery, but there is sort of a reason for it that will become clearer later in the series. I hope. I mean, I wasn't a Psychology major, so I don't really know this stuff. I'm taking a stab, here. Feelings can be messy and complicated anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz tells Simon how he really feels, yet Simon would rather show than tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT WARNING. This chapter is just one big smut, that's it. Once again, it's pretty awkward--and hopefully funny--but yeah... If you don't want the details, you can skip to the end notes and I'll summarize the teensy bits of plot/character stuff sprinkled in the scene so you don't have to wade through the filth yourself, if you'd prefer not to.
> 
> Oh, and since I wouldn't be true to myself if I didn't add a probably unnecessary disclaimer to quell my anxiety: I'd just like to say that I don't know the MCU films very well, and I certainly haven't seen any of the recent ones. But I get the sense that people have _feels_ about the last one, so I'd like to be clear that I have literally no opinion on any of it. I've just seen "Stucky" things on my dash over the years, so I know it's a ship that exists. I don't even know why someone might have a problem with the reference in this story, but please know I'm not starting Drama™ or anything, in any case.

**SIMON**

What has become of my life?

I never saw myself as the kind of person who would skip his Monday afternoon class in order to read _erotic Stucky fanfiction_ —I wasn’t even aware that was a thing until today—yet here I am. I have a paper due on Friday, too. I should really be researching.

Well, I suppose I am researching, technically. Just not for the paper.

I didn’t intend to fall down this rabbit hole today. Not really. I just thought I might do a little Googling to satisfy my curiosity, and maybe learn a new skill. It’s something I’ve been thinking about since last Thursday, when I also skipped a class—I should probably stop doing that, especially this late in the term—to spend time with Baz. I hadn’t really given it serious consideration before then, not in much depth, until I found myself faced with the real possibility of it. And now that we’ve crossed the line that was holding me back, that morning I woke up in his bed, I can’t stop considering it.

I might want to give Baz a blow job.

 _No_ , I think as I re-read this paragraph about Steve going down on Bucky yet again, _I definitely want to give Baz a blow job._

I just don’t want to be shit at it.

Maybe if he were as inexperienced as I am, I’d be more willing to just _wing it_ , but the thought of him being there thinking, _“Meh, I’ve had better,”_ just makes my skin crawl. So I’m boning up on the subject, so to speak.

I started with actual how-to guides. Instruction manuals. Articles from women’s magazines. Most of it was rather clinical, at best, or just downright condescending. After that, I tried looking for examples that were a bit more engaging, without flat out watching gay porn on my phone. (I only trust incognito mode so far.)

It’s how I ended up here, on some fanfiction site, filtering through recent stories for M/M pairings, Explicit ratings, and tags like “Blow Job” and “Oral Sex”—I can’t believe these are so blunt, but it’s helpful—and there are _lots_. I’m not even sure how many hours I’ve lost today, and I’m just at the tip of the iceberg.

It’s been a good way to round out my research, honestly. The technical guides gave me a better idea of, well, the technical side of things, but the fanfiction makes it seem way less clinical. It makes it seem… well, _really fucking hot_ , actually. (To be fair, I got half-hard reading the technical stuff, too, so I’m just goddamn horny, I think.)

Honestly, I should probably stop reading over this paragraph now. I’m not going to gain any new insights on the seventeenth time, or whatever, and I’m just going to end up even more frustrated than when I started…

Okay, one more time and then I’m done, I swear—

 

**BAZ**

Simon practically crushes his mobile against his chest when I walk into our room, like he’s worried I could see whatever he was looking at from over here by the door. I don’t have the eyesight to make out small details from this far away—no one does, I don’t think—not to mention I don’t have the power to bend light around corners with my mind, so his secret’s completely safe from me, whatever it is.

Or it would be completely safe if he hadn’t gotten so jumpy about it. Because now I have to know.

“What’ve you got there?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him once I hang up my jacket. “Watching something dirty?”

His face is practically glowing red, even though I was only trying to tease him. “I wasn’t watching anything!” he says defensively, shoving the phone under the rumpled duvet beside him, but keeping his hand firmly over it.

I leave my book bag by the door and walk over to him—he’s partially reclined at the head of his bed, but he shuffles into a more upright position, with his knees up, when I approach. “Whatever you’re hiding is probably not nearly as interesting as you think it is,” I tell him as I lean casually against the wall next to him with my forearm.

“Yeah, probably,” he says with an extremely nervous chuckle before looking up at me. “How was your coffee thing?”

“Good. Fine. Yeah.” It’s my turn to get awkward, apparently. “Fran just wanted to make sure I’m okay, I suppose. After I stormed out the other day…”

His expression grows a little concerned. “But you are okay. Right?”

I nod a little and lower my arm, leaning on the wall with my shoulder instead. “Yeah, I’m—I’m sorry, though.”

He looks confused now, so I push away from the wall and go to perch myself at the edge of the bed, near his feet.

“I was a coward, Simon,” I continue, pushing my hair out of my face as my head hangs forward a bit. “I’m the pathetic one, not you. I was angry that I couldn’t just… tell you want I wanted, what I felt, and I lashed out. At you. _About_ you. Before we got together, I said some shit that—”

“I don’t care,” he cuts in, and I feel him lower his legs over the edge of the bed next to me as he scoots closer. “We both said things we didn’t mean before, and, well… I know how you feel now, so that’s all that matters.”

“Do you, though?” I pick up his hand, brushing the back of it with my thumb. “I mean, a drunkenly mumbled love confession doesn’t really count, does it?”

His hand goes rigid in mine, and I worry he’s about to pull it away. “Oh, I thought—”

“No, I—I meant it when I said it,” I add quickly. I bring his hand up to my lips and kiss his knuckles again, like I did that night. “I do mean it… Just…” I sigh and look at him again. “Do you have any idea how happy I am with you?”

He slides off the bed and stands in front of me, his hand cupped to the side of my face. I think he’s about to answer, but I feel everything bubbling up inside me and I need to just let it out.

“I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never—It’s scary. To want something— _someone_ —this much.” I’m blathering, I know, but I hold his hand against my cheek because I find it grounding. “It’s scary but it feels good—so good. Because I want you, Simon—I really, really want you—and you want me back, which is just about the weirdest thing ever, but I’m so fucking happy about it. And I know I’m bad at showing it, and I want to work on it, because you deserve to know that… That I…”

I stop when Simon lifts his hand from my face, along with my own, and presses mine to his cheek instead. He closes his eyes and nestles his face into it before kissing the inside of my palm. It’s a bit unexpected, since no one’s ever been affectionate with me in quite this way, and I find myself kind of mesmerized as he continues to place delicate kisses all the way up to my fingertips. It’s quite sweet, really.

And completely fucking hot.

Only I, of all people, could get turned on by such a tender moment. Getting off on the idea of being fondly adored. (I wasn’t lying about me being the pathetic one.) I’m twisting what is meant to be a loving display into something sordid, and I—

_Holy shit._

I didn’t even realize that he’s staring at me now—I’ve been distracted by his lips—until he lets out an absolutely indecent sigh and pulls my middle finger into his mouth, and I see the look in his eye.

Maybe I’m not the only one who’s turned on. Actually, I’m now positive that he was watching something dirty on his phone when I walked in.

And I definitely want to know what it was.

 

**SIMON**

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I was trying to be sweet and romantic, or something, kissing Baz’s hand, like he sometimes does to me. But he usually kisses the back of my hand, and it somehow feels more intimate for me to kiss the inside of his. I hear his breath hitch as I make my way along his fingers, and when I look at him, he seems a bit mesmerized. His mouth is hanging open a little—yet he calls _me_ the mouth-breather—and his eyes are fixed on my lips.

I think he’s into this.

I think I’m into this.

So when he presses the tip of his finger between my lips—eliciting a really awkward sigh from me, completely unbidden—I open my mouth and take him in eagerly.

I have no idea what this is. Is this weird? I’m pretty much sucking on his finger now; that’s probably weird, right? He must think this is fucking weird. I should stop.

Before I can fully extract him from my mouth, though, I feel him push back in. Further in.

I involuntarily moan around his finger, and he quirks an eyebrow at me. I bet I look like a fucking idiot right now. I can’t do _sexy_ , not the way Baz can—not the way he is right now, for fuck’s sake. I just do stuff without thinking, sometimes, and when it feels good I keep doing it. Like this.

“Simon,” he says, using his free hand to pull my hips closer to him. His voice is low and a bit hoarse, like when he’s just woken up. Or like when he’s extremely aroused.

And I know for a fact he didn’t just wake up.

He leans forward, tilting his face up towards mine, like he would kiss me if his hand wasn’t currently in the way. “What were you watching when I came in?” he whispers as he draws his finger out of my mouth slowly.

I feel my cheeks heat up even more. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He brushes over my bottom lip and smirks. “It doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“I swear.”

 

**BAZ**

“I won’t judge, you know,” I add quietly, my tone a bit more serious. “You can tell me, if you want. Or…” My fingertips trail over his lips again as I try to hold myself back from kissing him, for the moment. “You could show me.”

Simon’s eyes go wide, briefly, and he yanks my hand away from his face so he can crash his lips against mine. His kiss is hot and fervent, and he leans so far into me that I have to push both my hands into the mattress behind me to avoid falling right back—though he is gripping the sides of my face so tight that I’m not sure I could fall if I wanted to.

His own hands soon fall from my face, however, and before I know it he’s unfastening my trousers. (I guess he thought when I said, _“show me,”_ it meant, _“act it out.”_ ) (But I’m not complaining.)

He places a few burning kisses down my jaw and neck, and swiftly pushes my trousers down past my hips. He’s never been this quick at undressing me, but his impatience today is rather working for me. He stoops to pull them down further, but it takes me a moment to realize he’s not coming back up. He’s on his fucking knees in front of me and holding up the bottom of my jumper so he can kiss me, right above the waistband of my pants.

I forget to breathe for a second and when I finally do, it’s loud and shaky.

He stops to look up at me. “Is this okay?” he asks, as if he thinks I might say no.

“Yes. Yes, I… Just…” I wish I weren’t hesitating right now, but I have to make sure. “Is this really what you want?”

“Oh, fuck, yeah.” He nods emphatically before pressing his lips to my stomach again. “I want to. So bad.”

The hem of my jumper drops on his face when he lets go of it to try and take off my pants, and I laugh lightly—I sound delirious, I think.

“Wait,” I say as I slip one hand around the back of his head, and he stops to look at me again, like he’s worried I changed my mind. That makes me laugh, too. “You’ll be complaining about your knees about two minutes in, so just get on the bed, you numpty.”

He’s scowling as I help him to his feet—he probably knows I’m right and hates it—but I pull him into another kiss before he can argue. He scrambles to take off my jumper, frantically, and I relieve him of his t-shirt as well.

When I start to climb up onto the bed behind me, though, I nearly trip myself, forgetting for a moment that he’d only managed to get my trousers down to my calves. He snorts at my momentary lapse in poise, as I wrestle them off the rest of the way. (This is the trickiest part of undressing, to be fair, considering the tightness of my jeans, and how muscular my calves are.) (If I’d known I would need a quick escape from them this afternoon, I might have worn a different pair.)

We both clamber up on the bed and I immediately pounce on him, pushing him to his back and getting to work removing his hideous jogging bottoms—the ones with the hole on the left thigh, which I usually poke my finger through to surprise him while he’s sitting next to me, especially when my hand is really cold. (He gets endearingly flustered and embarrassed, but they are still a crime against fashion.)

“Wait, Baz,” he says, stopping me when I press my lips to his exposed inner thigh now, as he leans back on his elbows. “I want to go first.”

I lift my head and frown in confusion for a second. _Well, what does he think I’m doing?_

Before I can even ask, he grabs me by the shoulders and flips us both around until he’s above me, this time.

_Oh…_

He wants to go first.

 

**SIMON**

I give Baz another kiss for good measure, because at least that’s something I know how to do for sure. Then, slowly—resisting my button-smashing urge to just go barrelling in—I make my way down his neck and chest as his grip tightens in my hair. I pause in random spots to flick my tongue against his skin, because I’ve discovered through trial and error that he likes that sort of thing. (The trial part is usually quite fun. The error part, not so much.)

By the time I’ve finished fumbling to get his pants off, I’m desperately running through what I’ve read this afternoon. I’m trying to see if I can recall what the fuck I’m actually supposed to _do_ , but all I can remember are anatomical words like frenulum and scrotum and perineum—so many ‘ _um_ ’s, it’s like me trying to talk when I’m nervous.

I think I’m overthinking this. There’s only so much I can learn from reading, honestly, and I’m much more of a hands-on person—or mouth-on, as the case may be.

I probably just need to go for it.

 

**BAZ**

Well, he’s just going for it, isn’t he?

He’s a bit clumsy and awkward at first—to be expected, frankly—but he’s certainly not the worst I’ve ever had. Though I’d rather not invite the comparison. Simon’s not like any of the others, no matter what Fran thinks. Not because he’s cute, or sweet, or a great guy—he is all of these, of course, but that’s not why he’s special to me.

Sure, it’s distinctly possible that I’d never have fallen for him if we didn’t share a room. If I didn’t have the opportunity to learn that I like drifting off at night to the sound of him breathing. To realize that I missed him, that weekend he spent visiting his family, when there was a palpable lack of his presence in the room. To memorize every detail about him, such that I can close my eyes and see him vividly. If I didn’t have the opportunity to fill my every thought with him…

Then, yes, I might not be where I am right now. Lying the wrong way around in his bed—my bare ass defiling the image of a beloved comic book character, I’m sure—while Simon works himself into a decent rhythm with his mouth and his hand on my cock. Not because I bought him dinner and drinks. Not because he’s trying to piss off his father. But because he wants to.

Because he wants me.

Because he loves me.

_Christ, I’m living a charmed life._

 

**SIMON**

As it turns out, I don’t think I completely suck at this—er, well, not in a bad way.

At least if the sounds Baz is making are anything to go by. Not to mention the way he grasps my head when I do something he likes. It’s sort of like that Warmer-Colder game, but infinitely more fun.

I’m a bit of a mess, though. I can’t stop drooling—buckets of it, seriously—and it’s dribbling down to my hand, around the base of his cock. It’s probably helpful, to be honest, but I’m still a bit embarrassed about it.

He doesn’t seem to mind, anyway. I actually think he’s going to come soon—massaging his hip and upper thigh with my other hand, I can feel him get increasingly tense—and the thought of it is so fucking hot that there’s a non-zero chance I will, too, and he’s not even touching me. (I actually did consider wanking, for a moment, but then I would have had to switch hands.) (Also, I’m not exactly clear on the etiquette of jerking yourself off when you’re supposed to be focused on someone else at the time.) (But I’m pretty sure now’s not the best time to ask.)

I let out a muffled groan when he gives my hair a particularly sharp tug, and I can tell he’s close because he’s swearing and his hips keep lifting up, like he can’t contain himself much longer. Which is good. I don’t want him to contain himself.

I want him to fall apart.

 

**BAZ**

The sound Simon makes when I tug on his hair is positively indecent, and the vibration pushes me past the point of no return. I’m swearing profusely and I can’t keep my hips down, and soon I’m falling apart with a shuddering sigh.

I’m a bit surprised by him, though. I sort of presumed he would reel back at the shock of suddenly having a mouthful of cum, and unsubtly spit it out next to me, as if it were toothpaste—I mean, it’s what I did my first time. But I was utter shit at it then, in general, and had no clue what to expect.

He’s much better at this than I was, and even fucking smiles at me once he lifts his head and swallows—he looks so adorably pleased with himself, that I immediately pull him in for a kiss, because I can’t bear seeing that smile for another goddamn second. He’s almost smug, the bastard, and it’s an incredibly good look for him.

 

**SIMON**

Baz kisses me and pushes me back until I’m leaning into my pillows, which I’d propped up against the wall at the head of the bed earlier when I was doing my _“research.”_ He doesn’t spend as much time as I did before getting down to business, though—because, frankly, I don’t have that kind of time anymore. I almost think I’m going to explode as soon as he so much as breathes on me.

I’m not that far off, actually.

He barely takes me in his mouth before I have to clamp my hand over mine—we’ve already had one noise-complaint warning from the RA in our building, which was pretty fucking awkward—so as not to unleash The Noise on our unsuspecting neighbours. I come embarrassingly quickly afterwards, and Baz smirks at me before reaching up for another kiss.

“Sorry,” I say with a nervous chuckle, a bit flustered as he crawls over to sit next to me and rests his head on my shoulder.

“For what?” he asks, but I can tell by his tone that he knows exactly what, so I elbow him in the side. “I’m not done with you, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

He turns his head and nuzzles against the side of my neck. “I still want to know what you were watching when I came in.”

“I wasn’t watching anything,” I say. I’m telling the truth, but my voice comes out strained anyway.

“I. Don’t. Believe. You,” he whispers as he peppers kisses on my neck, reaching his arm across me like he’s about to wrap me in a hug. But he doesn’t.

I only realize what he’s doing once it’s too late. Once he’s already got my mobile in his hand, having pulled it out from under the duvet on the opposite side of me, where I left it—and where it miraculously didn’t get crushed—and it’s too late for me to stop him.

“Can I see?” he asks, holding it beyond my reach, but still waiting for my permission to check. (He’s always been rather respectful of my privacy, to be fair.) (Except for secretly watching me get dressed.) (But I can’t say I mind that, honestly.)

“I wasn’t watching anything,” I repeat insistently, trying to climb over him to grab it. “I was… reading.”

He raises both eyebrows at me while lowering his arm, still holding me back from my device. “What were you reading, then?”

“Doesn’t matter, just give it back.” I hold out my hand impatiently.

He seems to consider it for a moment before handing it over, though he doesn’t let go of it even once it’s in my grasp. “Will you read it to me?” he asks with smirk.

“No!” I yank it out of his hand. “It’s… It’s none of your business.” _It’s embarrassing_. (More embarrassing than coming in three-point-two seconds, though? I’m not so sure.)

“Come on, love,” he says, leaning back into me and crawling his fingers up my side. It tickles. “I want to know what inspired all of this.”

“You’re gonna laugh at—Wait.” _Did I hear him right?_ “Did you just call me _love_?”

He looks shy, all of a sudden. “Well, yeah, I—Sorry, it just came out, and—”

“No, I liked it,” I add quickly, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I just didn’t think you were the type to use pet names.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffs. “You’re the type but I’m not?”

“I—I never said I was the type, either.”

“Yeah, but you call me _babe_ all the time lately.”

“What?” I let out an incredulous laugh. “I do n— _Oh, shit_.”

 

**BAZ**

I’m cackling now. I can’t help it.

I didn’t seriously expect him to have no idea he was doing it, but this is rather amusing. That being said, I don’t exactly want him to stop, or anything…

“I like when you do,” I tell him, taking hold of his empty hand and interlacing our fingers. “It sounds good when you say it.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just curls his fingers around mine in return, but I dip my head and kiss him on the shoulder with a satisfied hum. He turns toward me and buries his face in my hair.

“So,” I add. “Will you read it to me, _love_?”

He snickers against me, and it blows a strand of hair into my face. “Only if you promise not to laugh at me, _babe_.”

“Simon…” I lift my head, nudging his out of the way so I can look him in the eye. I smile. “Of course I’ll laugh at you.”

“Fuck off,” he says, without a hint of malice, as he roughly shoves my face away with his hand. Then he sighs and holds up his phone in front of him.

I can see the screen come on, though I’m not at the right angle to read from it. He clears his throat, like he’s going to read it to me anyway. He looks like he’s about to start, but then he holds up one finger, like he just remembered something.

“Wait, how much do you know about _Captain America_?”

“I’ve seen a couple of the movies,” I tell him once I’ve forced down the initial burst of laughter that threatened to overtake me. “And I know that Steve and Bucky are totally gay for each other.”

“Good.” He sits up a bit taller and holds up his phone again, like he’s pretending to take this seriously, and then looks back at me one more time. “Shall I, babe?”

I nod. “Carry on, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you skipped reading this chapter, here's the important-ish stuff you missed:
> 
>   * Baz tells Simon that he meant what he said when he mumbled a drunk love confession the other day, and that he's really happy they're together.
>   * Baz has muscular calves. I think that's important, right?
>   * Baz recognizes that he might not have ended up in a relationship with Simon if they hadn't been roomed together, because it's the reason he was able to develop and acknowledge his feelings for Simon over time. But he's happy they did.
>   * Baz calls Simon "love" for the first time, and points out that Simon's been calling him "babe" for days, which Simon hadn't realized. It's cute.
> 

> 
> Right, so, most of that stuff is about Baz, I know, but pretty much everything Simon did or thought in this chapter was sexual, so yeah.... There you go.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been reading this series, and for all the lovely comments and reassurance! It's kind of fun to still be writing this version of the characters, since it was my very first SnowBaz fic, and I'm going to be sad when the series ends, I think. But there's more to come still, fear not!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be super obnoxious and mention that I have a tumblr now for my _Carry On_ shenanigans, [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com), so feel free to befriend me over there because I am so lonely.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I've Closed Enough Windows to Know You Can Never Look Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783586) by [HermioneGirl96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneGirl96/pseuds/HermioneGirl96)




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